Artist's Block
by Mrs.Dauntless
Summary: A looming and incredibly bossy Horseman on your shoulder that you accidentally summoned? Cake walk. The real challenge is to send him away without the help of the very pen that summoned him. Fantastic! Rated T for language, but everything is quite light and humorous. No pairings, but definitely some friendship for the lonely Horseman. (Written through 2nd person POV)
1. Chapter 1

" _Why did you summon me here?"_

The rough voice hisses, glowing eyes glowering at you. You nearly whimper but you sigh and pull at the ends of your hair in defeat.

" _Man, you're guess is as good as mine."_

* * *

It was a Saturday, and the chill of January settled like a veil over everything in sight. Even in your toasty log cabin, things were still cold to the touch even if the fire was blazing all day. Nevertheless, you liked the chill, because with the cold you could bundle up and stay cozy in large over-sized sweaters and sweatpants that were way too big for your small frame. You shudder slightly as you step out of the shower, dry off in your traditional manner and dress in the giant clothes that you set out for the evening: a large navy blue hoodie, and a pair of massive grey sweatpants that were much too large even for the people that the size aimed towards. You love it, and settled into your worn office chair at your oak desk.

Right. You took a break from drawing to warm up a little, and hopefully get the creative ideas flowing from your tired brain to finish the art commission that was due at the end of next week. You had a few ideas that captured nature and still life, and a couple more that was aimed towards action and movement. As great as the ideas were, they didn't jump out at you and you felt no connection to any of them. This causes you to sigh dishearteningly .

"Damn." You mutter, crossing your arms like a child as the ocean of inspiration that flowed the day before was dried up like the Sahara in the middle of August, while suffering an extreme dry spell. There was nothing for your brain to really grab at, and your chances of finding an idea was very small and not worth the effort considering you had all day tomorrow to try motivating yourself.

You instead try writing in calligraphy, it was an art form, and the appealing curves and spirals of the letters were calming and gave variety to the traditional art that you were used to. Soft music played in the background as you continued to draw with your favorite pen, the blue ballpoint in the shape of the blade of the Red Horseman, _Chaoseater._ It was an awesome pen, and the lifetime of it was incredible. You had the thing for nearly 7 years, and it was still going on strong, despite the abuse it took over the time you possessed it.

A few scratches marred the surface, along with an accidental hit to the hilt of the blade (which caused the pen to not click and push the ink tip down sometimes), but it was sturdy and loved. As you gaze with admiration at your beloved pen, an idea came to mind as you remembered the Horseman who wielded such a weapon. Ah yes, the creative juices were flowing now.

You smirk inwardly as you get to work while the idea was fresh and thriving, finding a clean area on the many doodles you had to sketch out a rough idea of the Horseman's proportions, and determine the space of the bulky armor relative to the camera angle that you were using.

The Red Rider was looking at the viewer at a comfortable three-quarter view, his normal scowl on his face as you looked at a reference picture now and then to get the sizes and shapes correctly. He was just standing, in an intimidating manner that drew upon his features for a powerful and effective pose, yet simple in nature.

You had a very comic book kind of style, which worked great for the Horseman especially since his style was influenced from the graphic novels and the games that you played over 12 thousand times (you were quite enamored with the _Darksiders_ series).

You were humming along to the music and drawing in quick, sure strokes, finally (and momentarily) finding bliss in the fact that you were drawing again, even though it was not relative to the work that you were supposed be doing for your client. You grin and sigh with satisfaction as the shading pulled together to form War, leaning away to gaze critically at the image. You were enjoying the shading that was clean and structured, along with the sense of belonging that the Horseman had in the corner of your paper. You set the pen down and flex your hands, which were trembling a bit from over exertion. Another break was in order, this time, coffee.

As you stand to go to your homey kitchen for a refill, you hear the sound of papers and your pen dropping on the floor behind you. Mildly annoyed, you turn to see the mess, each paper sprawled in chaos and your pen nowhere to be found. You were sure that it was the one to fall as well, because all other supplies were in their respective containers and places. You pick up the papers, reordering them and setting the stack on your desk neatly, heaving a small sigh as you pace away again to go to the kitchen. You'll look for the pen after you get coffee.

The damnable sound again. You barely had a one foot out of your office door.

You groan and turn back to the mess, your brow furrowed in irritation because it kept falling even though you were putting the stack of papers in a secure area of the desk and-

Wait. They keep falling even if you put them away securely.

The superstitious part of you began to kick in, everything falling silent in the space you occupied. Even the crackling fireplace in the room was silent, snuffed out in a chilling whisper. The hell was going on? With the fire out, the room was starting to surrender to the frost, and you felt it prickle on your skin despite the clothes that you wore.

You decide to restart the fire, finding that warmth above all else was important, especially in the deep of winter. A match and some spare paper went a long way, and in no time the fire was ignited. You grunt softly as you rise to your feet, turning towards to the door to leave when a sharp clicking sound drew your attention.

That sound, it sounded an awful lot like your beloved _Chaoseater_ ballpoint pen being toyed around with. You forget about breathing as you turn to the suspicious sound, your face settled into the expression of both curiosity and anxiety. Your eyes caught onto the deep red of a hood and you fell to the floor in alarm.

"Fucking!-"

You scream, causing the blue eyes that were gazing in intense question at the _Chaoseater_ pen to sharply look at you, and the scowl that you drew to look even more menacing in person to deepen. God that face could make the devil himself cower.

"Why did you summon me here?"

The rough voice hisses, glowing eyes glowering at you. You nearly whimper in recoil but you pull at the ends of your hair, sighing in defeat.

"Man, you're guess is as good as mine."

The Horseman growls and takes a pace towards you, but fumbles as his step was incomplete. You almost laugh as the mountain of a man (if he can be called a man given his size) suddenly ends up tripping and off balance, but you quell that urge extremely quick with hopes of keeping your life. You gaze curiously at the Red Rider as he fights for movement, and look at the hardwood floor, seeing the problem.

The massive giant was restricted to only the paper that was on the floor, the area as small as a bathroom rug. As you remember, that was the same stack that had contact with your pen. As the smart side of you recognized that the pen (which was now by your foot as it fell out of his huge hand) is the real reason for why the Horseman is able to only be restricted so such a small area, but your childish side saw the humor in the unfortunate event and took precedence immediately. You felt your lips tug into a bubbling grin, the laugh that you tried to quell just itching to bark out. As the Horseman struggles to move, he gazes at you with wide glowing eyes in shock of his situation, frozen as he realizes that a Horseman of the Apocalypse was defeated by a mere pen. You see him fluster and take a hit to his pride.

That's where you lose it.

The laugh that bubbled in your throat just shook you as it roared out, you core tensing and your cheeks hurting from the smiling. You felt tears in your eyes as the pain was intense, but the laugh was worth it as War's expression was in complete shock of your reaction. That only made you laugh harder, your cheeks basically bleeding from the heat that flushed your skin from the lack of breathing. You remember that it was important to indeed breathe, so you begin to calm yourself and take slow, but incredibly difficult giggling breaths.

If looks could kill, you would be dead at least 20 times by now. You give a sheepish smile and pick up your pen slowly, his intimidating glare white hot on your skin. Christ he could light you on fire from such anger. You muster up enough courage to look him in the eye, despite the fact that your heart was hammering out a war song in your chest.

"Look, I have no idea how you came here," You start to explain with a level of empathy, using the term " _here_ " to generalize the fact that he was in a completely new dimension. The Horseman's scowling face was as cold as the below 20 weather. Damn, that's icy.

"But I have no idea in how you actually showed up. I was just drawing with this pen, and _**bam**_ ," pausing to use your hands to clap and gesture to his current position in your office, standing in an area of scattered paper. "Here you are."

War falls in on himself for a moment, apparently in thought. You assume that he is thinking of a plan to get himself out of here, which is completely reasonable. The better part of you is freaking the fuck out about how awesome it is to have a god damn HORSEMAN of the APOCALYPSE in you office space of your house right now, but the more rational side is scared shitless of potentially being on the working end of the extremely _**real**_ Chaoseater. You look at your pen as you wait for his response, seeing the actual danger and power in said pen now that you have the Red Rider in your dimension.

"That pen...it drew me out of my realm and into," he glances about your work space with a sense of deprecation. Ouchie, that hurt your pride. Well you did laugh at him, to be fair. "...this one. I will take the chances of that very same pen being the way of which I will depart this world into my own." The horseman breathes, almost in an annoyed and tired manner. You wait for him to continue.

"Quick mortal, draw this spell immediately." War demands, his rough voice spurring you into action. You make a sound of accord and pace over to your desk for more paper, while laying down a few for the Horseman to pace and even sit if he wanted to. You take up residence in your office chair, and take the scrolled up spell from the Rider gingerly, mostly because of excitement and fear, and flash him a bright grin.

"No worries, I'll get you out of this mess, it's the least I can do for this little hiccup." You say, beginning to carefully scrawl out the spell on several pieces of paper that you taped together to fit the spell. The Rider doesn't reply, and if anything just glares at your office space as if it was the most awful place he could be in at this very second. You'd consider that expression a childish pout, which was actually pretty damn cute.

As you drew the Horseman eventually paced about, looking at various things in your work space out of curiosity than actual interest. If you had a light box this would be way more effective, but you had good enough hand-to-eye skill to draw it out directly onto paper after looking at the reference. That fact makes you pause for a moment. What if your cherished skill was complete garbage and you drew the horseman with your pen, and he came out of his world looking completely different.

Different as in...totally different than the (quite honestly) handsome horseman now standing behind you? You imagined him with a rougher style, completely out of proportion, all shakily drawn and grossly out of his canon style, bossing you around to recreate the spell with your special pen. Oh no. You choke on laughter and stop drawing to breathe and collect yourself. The said horseman's rumble of annoyance only added to your giggling fit as he took a single step to your desk.

"Why have you stopped? Keep drawing, mortal." War threatens, but you just howl in laughter as your mental image was too strong, and had you distracted. After being verbally hassled by the Horseman, you straighten and get back to drawing, only to stop again in a cold sweat, the very life blood running through your veins as frosted as the glare that those blue glowing eyes gave you. War loomed over you to inquire why you stopped, _again_.

"What?" He barks more than asks, his eyes shifting from your hand to the pen to your face. You swallow dryly and cough.

"The pen just died."

* * *

Aww man, I had to publish this idea after I doodled the Horseman in my sketchbook. Shoot me a pm or a review about the story, so that I can make improvements and what not to ensure you guys are getting good quality content! Thanks for reading!

Mrs. Dauntless


	2. Chapter 2

His glower was something fierce as the silence fell hard, and your fireplace dared not to crackle. You clear your throat as a million things other than the impending doom that you faced ran through your mind, more out of habit than to say anything. You knew that your pen had a great life span, but you didn't expect it to just cough and swallow the bullet when you needed it most. But now a bigger question has presented itself: what is about to happen to you? Your consciously stress about this, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling as you pondered worriedly. A sharp sigh escapes the Horseman, one that definitely registers as annoyance and you nearly flinch out of your skin when his armour clinks as he turns away, deep in thought again.

Okay. What can you do to fix this? Despite the pounding of your heart and the rambling mess your mind was yelling at you, an idea comes to mind.

"Horseman," You say cautiously, trying to earn his attention. War glances over his shoulder at you, his glowing blue eyes watching you critically. He did not verbally reply, but he was waiting for you to continue. You swallow the lump of nervousness in your throat as you try to remember to breathe.

"Obviously the pen had some magical properties, strong enough so it could summon a Horseman of the Apocalypse into my office," you try to joke, a characteristic of your methods to dealing with anxiety-inducing situations. Obviously the Horseman was a tough crowd. You continue, "perhaps, you can sense what the pen is made out of, and then we may fix it." By it you meant this entire situation and also the pen. This was a shot in the dark, an observation that you made to try and help out. You did feel sorry for the Horseman, that was summoned without reason. Truly canon to the game, again he was summoned without true purpose. You empathized, because really, you were wasting his time.

War's eyes glow at the suggestion, his countenance shifting into something that resembled thoughtfulness, actually considering your observation. He hums, then takes a small pace towards your desk to retrieve the pen. His armored hand gingerly picks up the pen with impressive gentleness. You watch as he closes his eyes slowly, the air prickling with an electricity as he fell in on himself.

When he opens his blue eyes again you were expectantly waiting for his answer.

"There is minute traces of magic in the casing, but the ink is actually responsible for the act of summoning me here. The power of souls is bound to the pigment within the pen."

The Rider takes a knee as he dismembers the pen in the massive gauntlet that serves as his left hand, his hulking figure just dominating the small space of your office. Ah, you should probably move out of here, considering that this is the place with all your expensive equipment. You heave a massive stack of paper in your tiny human hands, your voice strained at the amount you took, and begin to lay out a pathway as you shuffle backwards out the door.

"Horseman, come this way please," You request, rather than order, feeling as though it wasn't your place to be bossing around the Red Rider. With a loud rustling noise, heavy footsteps that could wake the dead followed. You snicker as he seemed so out of place as he was walking on a pathway of paper, but as long as he had the pen he could pace onto the fresh leaves without trouble. You guided him to the living room, pausing to move the furniture out of the way so that he could have some space.

In the much more open living room the Horseman seemed more comfortable. A high ceiling about the height of two stories, the log cabin was a one floor wonder that you scored upon when you bought it. You just scattered the papers all over the floor, thinking about how annoying it may be to clean this all up when this business was said and done. War sets his blade near your massive hearth, which was dying actually.

You busy yourself and feed it, as War settles in the centre of the room. You make your way over to him when he calls you.

"Mortal-"

"Actually, my name's (Y/N)."

War sharply gazes at you for the interruption, to which you sheepishly cough and look at his hand, apologizing meekly.He sighs irritably before continuing.

"(Y/N)," The Horseman growls softly, his eyes flashing in the equivalence of an eye roll. You scoff lightly, his attitude just vexing you.

"Perhaps you can find the merchant who sold you this pen, and reclaim another one."

His vocabulary is so painfully obnoxious it set your nerves on edge. You were about to agree, but your phone chimed with a notification that was from your client, causing you to pull the device out of your sweater pocket to answer it. The Horseman straightened in surprise, then in a interestingly curious fashion, he loomed over you to inspect the source of the sound. You bite the inner flesh of your lower lip to not smile as he leaned in quite closely.

"What….is that?"

His voice was softer now, almost like childish curiosity, genuine interest behind his words as his eyes glowed in what you deemed to be genuine interest. Way better than the attitude he was serving you moments ago.

"This is a cell phone. Humans use these devices to stay in contact with each other. My client just messaged me." You explain with a smile, showing him everything that you were doing. Even if you turned away, he would've probably just followed regardless.

You answer the impatient text message with a series of irritated taps of your thumbs on the touch screen, the client being particularly bitchy about the idea that they wanted you to portray. God, why couldn't they have said so before? You huff, and dismiss the conversation, going online to see if the pen was in stock. War remains silent as he observes your every move.

You clear your throat as you break the silence.

"And I agree to your suggestion. Although, it's been several years since I contacted the supplier, so there may be a possibility of the pen being out of stock…." You trail off quietly, hoping that this option was not a reality. "Hey, would you like something to drink?" You act fast and ask with a friendly grin as the Horseman's mood instantly soured. The Horseman snorts.

"My kind do not require sustenance." He answers.

"C'mon, once in a lifetime trip to present day humanity. See what us weakling humans survive on while I try searching for the merchant." You invite the Horseman with a smile, not overly surprised when he remained silent and just scowled.

You tensely noted how the atmosphere became awkward and you slowly back and excuse yourself from the room to enter the kitchen. Mama needed a drink, and maybe some of the apple pie that you made yesterday evening. Baking in your free time definitely relieves stress.

That attitude will be the death of your social abilities for as long as he wont give into anything you suggest or say to be pleasant. You sigh deeply, the breath that you sought coming harder from the reality that you were suddenly facing. You rub your temple tenderly, trying to really wrap your head around the fact that a freaking _Horseman_ of the _Apocalypse_ was in your living room. 

You at least should try to be on civil term with him, considering he is a stranger that can kill you if he really wanted.

"You know, I have no need for you to be a Horseman right now. You don't need to wear all that armour if you are simply going to be passive as we figure this out." You say to him as you were fixing the kettle on the stove to boil some water, nearly dying of a heart attack when he was behind you.

You clutch your chest, a rush of air escaping your lungs as you wonder how in the hell he was so silent and how he came up behind you. Your eyes are attracted to the bundle of white in his massive gauntlet, to which explains how he was mobile. The look on his face was wicked amusement which you simply sighed irritably at.

You brush the hair out of your face as you pull out your phone again, deciding to scroll through the web store you bought the pen from while you wait for the kettle. You decide to remain silent, as speech was to no avail with the Horseman.

War drew closer to you as you continued to scroll through the web page, putting on a stone face as if he was already bored with technology. You inwardly scoff at that shameless display of stoicism, and continue. With some quick inputs and some keywords, you narrow the search significantly and wait for the page to load.

The silence was stifling, and it was harder to deal with especially since the Horseman isn't trying to socialize. More so because of your dislike for the silence, you tell him what you did and what you're trying to do now. He simply stares on at the screen, the only response from him being a slight head nod.

He's such great company.

You groan and softly curse the instant the web page presented the one thing you dreaded.

The pen wasn't in stock.

You swallow hard, but the lump of panic sits like a hot coal in your throat. What do you even say to the Horseman to try and ignite the quickly dying fire of hope? You look up at the Horseman's face after summoning some bravery, and the scowl that enveloped his countenance was almost the most terrifying thing you've seen in your many years of life.

"I can try contacting them to see if they have the pen in a storage warehouse or something, but can you maybe try to infuse some of your apocalyptic mojo into some regular pen ink too?" Your voice gets weaker half way through the sentence, but heart hammering as the reality of what is unfurling further sinks into your conscience.

War seems to ponder that for a moment and 'hmphs' as he simply turns and stalks away into the living room. You were tempted to call out to him, but the kettle began to screech and you were almost grateful for something familiar to distract you.

Within moments you fixed yourself something hot, fresh ground coffee with a bit of whiskey to knock a bit of the edge off. Piping hot it was, but you were almost numbed by the rollercoaster of panic and calm that the Horseman kept throwing at you. Lord, you were pretty exhausted at that.

You settle on the couch that you set up by the window and look outside to the snowing landscape. With a hand supporting your temple, you sip frequently at the steaming mug, trying to find the contact information to call the company. Again the silence was beginning to swallow the space the both of you occupied, and at this point you were beginning to give up of the pleasantries.

"Are all mortals as talkative as you?" He asks in an annoyingly sarcastic manner, to which you chuckle incredulously with the furrow of your brow, your eyes slowly (scratch that, more like tiredly) look up at him. For a divine being that can only exist on scattered printer paper, he sure is cheeky, isn't he?

"No, not all humans are talkative as me. And trust me when I say that they are not as calm about having a Horseman of the apocalypse in their living room just taking up space either." You sass, enjoying the huff that rippled through him.

"The pen was not in stock, but I know that I can try ordering it in from the supplier. So, their business hours are not friendly on weekdays, since that conflicts with my schedule. However, before you death glare at me-" You chuckle dryly at the instant sourness that took residence on his face.

"I have an hour left before they close for the night. Let me try calling them." You conclude, finding the number as you finished speaking. After you punch it in, you gaze at the Red Rider right in the eyes as the line began to ring actively. War simply huffs and narrows his eyes at you as you smirk. Not smugly, but more so in amusement.

Within a moment the line clicked.

"Hello, this is Fred's Novelty Shop, how may I help you this evening?" A notably bored voice greeted.

"Good evening, I'd like to know if there was an item still in stock." You explain. The voice softly sighs.

"What is the item that you are looking for?" They ask. You reply that you are looking for a ballpoint pen in the shape of a very specific blade. You hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background.

You sip on your boozy coffee while the Horseman gazes with a stone expression of criticalness at your every interaction. The voice returns in a slightly warmer tone.

"The blade you are looking for is the special edition Chaoseater blade. The website says there is no pens in stock, however we can order it in. Would you like to-"

"PLEASE LET ME PLACE AN ORDER FOR IT." You practically scream. Yes! This was the blessing needed to sending the Horseman on his way. The voice sighs deeply, obviously irritated, and taps their keyboard rather sourly in silence. The voice informs you that an order has been placed, and that they required your personal information. Without hesitation you rush to find your wallet and grab your credentials.

The Red Rider watches you with a significantly warmer countenance, the tension on his hulking shoulders slowly laxing. This in turn makes you feel a lot more at ease. You lay out your information and wait for the voice to give you the okay.

"When would you like your order delivered?" They ask.

"As soon as possible please." You sigh to calm your excitement. You give the thumbs up to the Horseman as the voice drones about the scenario that will happen when the package arrives and about the price. War just quirked a brow and his mouth twitched, but gave little indication to whether or not that was a good sign. A measly goodnight was given as the employee hung up, but that did not dampen your mood in the slightest. Your current situation was getting resolved, and that was all that mattered. You beamed at the Horseman.

"Wonderful news! The pen is expected to arrive in about 2-ish weeks. I know that sounds like a lot of time, but considering the supplier lives in Japan, this is normal." You explain, finishing your cup as the hulking man rose and paced to the large windows that faced a frozen lake. He gazed out silently, less irritable and tense but not totally happy either. You understood why.

You look at your coffee thoughtfully as you think of something empathetically to say to the Red Rider. "Listen, I understand if you don't want to stay here, so you can go incognito for a while until the pen comes in if you-"

"I am bound by the contract." War interrupted curtly. That made you flinch and look up at him. "I cannot simply leave. Further, you stated yourself that the world is not ready for a Horseman. It will cause more tiresome mayhem to exit this premise." He gazed sharply at you in silence from over the massive curve of his shoulder, which put you on edge. You held your breath at the sudden change which made your chest hurt. Then he grunted in disdain, and returned to the window.

So much for bonding.

After getting a slap of rudeness from the Horseman, you needed to venture away from him for a while. You threw your coat on and found your hat, grumbling as you put your boots on.

 _What an ass, I'm trying to help him out and he's being such a prick about it! If he thinks he can walk all over me, I swear I'll-_

"Where are you going?" A rough voice practically demands rather than asks, interrupting your thoughts.

Your groan was on the border of a annoyed growl, and you glare at the source. "I'm heading outside for a while. The driveway won't shovel itself." you grumble, shoving your hands into heavy duty gloves and finding a scarf. The Horseman burned holes in your back as you quickly walked out and slammed the door, the winter air cooling your increasingly firey face as you held your temper.

At last, you sigh and shuffle numbly to the shovel, to which you pick and walk to the end of the driveway. Damn that Horseman for being so rude about this whole ordeal. You were struggling too! How were you supposed to know that you could summon things? Magic isn't even supposed to exist on Earth, let alone in some measly artist's hands. As you violently throw the heavy snow off into slowly shaping banks, you realize something.

What about the other things that you've drawn? Would they come to life too? It's been 7 long years with that beloved though now potentially dangerous pen, and nothing supernatural ever resulted from using it...until now. Why now? Why at this moment, when you just got your career as a graphic artist off the ground, did complications arise?

You shake your head with a deep sigh, and subconsciously wonder about the ability to summon things. How did you do it? What on this God forsaken planet gave you the awesome ability to actually be capable of summoning a Horseman of the Apocalypse? You snort at the idea of having some hidden power, that you were the clichéd offspring of some divine being that gave you this supernatural characteristic.

Yeah right. But...it was a question that you were genuinely curious about, despite your doubts. Perhaps this would help to solve this conundrum. Now that you were venting your temper, you did feel better after the exercise. For several minutes you heave snow and clear a path, piling the snow into high banks. A simple path to your car (which was still submerged under the snow), a clear driveway, and a cleared path into your house was the result of your labour.

While heavily panting, you remove your hat and loosen your scarf, the exercise making you being to radiate heat like mad. The moisture from the accumulated sweat you were perspiring showed in the air, thin wisps of steam slowly cooling you off. The chilly air from the still of the winter evening felt quite nice honestly. Picking up your shovel, you turn to head back inside your house to ask the Horseman. He may be absolutely irritating, but you realized that he had answers. You almost reluctantly trudged back inside.

As you remove your winter attire, you sigh as you ask the question that was on your mind. "Hey Horseman, I know we aren't on great terms, but let's try to smooth things out, alright? I have a question about how I was able to summon you of all beings." You introduced the topic as you walked through the kitchen to the living room, surprised when the space of where the pie occupied was now empty. Quirking a brow, you walk towards the living room almost curiously.

"So how was I able to summon you even though I'm a-" You halted, gawking at the kneeling Horseman in question, who was turned away from you, an empty and crumpled pie tin on the ground beside him. His armour softly creaked as he turned towards you, powder blue eyes glinting in defeat as his mouth was dusted with the crumbs of his weakness. You snort and laugh heartily, enjoying the idea of a divine being like War succumbing to the bliss of mortal baking.

"I can explain." He softly grumbles, whether in regard to the pie or to your question you had no idea, but you continued laughing anyways, deciding that this act of weakness was the right kind of leverage you could use in the future.

AN: Hey Darksiders fans!'^-^

I know it's been more than a year since I updated, and I feel awful! Life sucks, and my attention span is even worse haha (ahem). I was inspired to finish this chapter after reading Darksiders fics (If you want an awesome fic to read, check out Daydreaming Didn't Cover This! It's sooooooooooooooooo good), instead of studying for my midterm ahah.

Anyways, thank for reading! I'll try to update more :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Late update, apologies. School is over for the holiday season, so that's great :) I don't own Darksiders™ nor any of the songs listed. Artists listed have full copyright to their songs. Also, The fic I mentioned in last chapter (Daydreaming Did Not Cover This) is credited to the author **Sybariticfanficiton**. I respect them so much 3 Have a safe and happy holiday season everyone 3

* * *

"So...you like pie."

You state factually, as you see him munch on blueberry pie that you had in the fridge. Down on one knee, he was very poised and rather graceful in how he ate, which was surprising to you for some reason. Perhaps it was due to the violence you associate with him from the game, but even then, he is incredibly elegant and confident with his movements. It's nothing compared to Death in the second Darksiders™ game, but still, you admit it is rather interesting to watch and make note of.

The horseman swallows the small bite he took, the pie tin looking so incredibly tiny as it rested in his massive gauntlet while he ate with his right hand. He glares at you, somewhat defensive.

"Yes." He stated flatly, almost like he didn't want to admit to the fact that caved into the pastry. You smothered the laugh that rose in your throat, taking a long draw at your now cold boozy coffee. You decided to spare him the teasing comments as you drew the focus back to the question to had for the Horseman.

"Horseman," you say, wanting to gaze into his eyes for polite reasons, but your attention was drawn pretty quickly to the crumbs that were practically pooling in his red hood. You inwardly chuckle and continue, trying your best to ignore the messy display. "I am by no means capable of summoning you-"

"Yet it happened." The Horseman interjects, dipping the fork you gave him into the pie to make another bite sized portion. You sigh heavily at his interruption, your gaze narrowing.

"YES, I know it happened. But I want to know why. A mere pen is not nearly enough." You grumble that last bit, your cold boozy coffee warming your belly as the whiskey was kicking in. The Horseman glares at you with a frown, the fork you gave him being held rather delicately and he mulled over your question. The fire was crackling as he thought, filling the void of silence that consumed the room.

As you finished your cup and was putting it in the sink, War began to answer your question.

"It may be your will. There must have been a determination to call me forth, even if it was unintended." His voice was soft, but there was an edge that you definitely did not miss. You were coming back into the living room, picking up paper that were scattered among the floor before stopping and taking a breath, facing away from the rider. Getting sassy won't solve anything, so rationalizing what was said proved to be the better option.

Did you really want a Horseman here? Surely not to be judging you and eating your fridge. The world did not need War and all of his intimidating grandeur, just like his game. You say that you will 'be right back,' and walk to your office to grab scissors and a strong adhesive tape. You silently dissect what he says, thinking of how to respond and what to do as the pen you ordered is delivered to your home.

You come back to the living room, asking the Horseman to give you his feet. He seems to catch on to what you were thinking, because although he scowled something real fierce, he sits on the ground with his legs stretched out. It was an awkward pose (only because you would never picture the Horseman sitting like this) and you promised to work quickly.

You were really lost in thought, thinking and overthinking the act of subconsciously wanting the Horseman in your realm of existence. While you were thinking, War just quietly ate the remaining quarter of the pie in the tin, the steel fork making tapping sounds against the tin as he dove in for each bite.

Rationally, summoning beings from other realms that are not related to your own makes plenty sense. And as much as you admire the Horseman's strength, you quite certainly did not need him here. Entertaining thoughts of interacting with War went through your mind of course, due to being a fan of the franchise. But they were funny and entertaining only because it was thought to be fiction and never a reality. You sigh and sit back after you finish one foot, white paper and tape covering the whole surface of the bottom of his boot.

"I really did not mean to summon you. And I genuinely understand what it's like to have someone call you and not be needed." You say in a soft empathetic tone, continuing onward with covering his second massive foot. As a slight introvert you were losing energy to interact, and with the Horseman's pointed statements jabbing at you, your energy was quickly dropping to non-existent levels. War was as silent as stone, save for his soft, closed-mouthed chewing.

"I want to make this right, so just bear with me please." Your tired eyes look up at the Horseman for a glance at his expression, and not to your surprise was his countenance still. You stick on the last piece of tape and remove yourself from the boots of the Horseman, beginning to pick up the remaining mess of papers that were thrown on the floor for War. After finishing that task you stand and massage the stress out of your back with your free hand, placing the wrinkled and muddied papers on the coffee table with a sour toss.

War shuffles into a standing position, and places the pie tin (now empty) on the coffee table as well, eyeing the outside world. You see that it was clear yet very windy outside

"I guess I can lay down a few ground rules. Outside is fine, just stay within the property line. No one visits out here, so prying eyes aren't a concern. If you have any questions about technology just ask, I'll help. You're welcome to the fridge, just leave enough of a portion for me. Shower is down this hall," you gesture with your hand to the direction of the bathroom. "As for sleeping arrangements, we can determine that after dinner." You're practically speed mumbling at this point, and you really need a nap to charge your social battery.

"Don't burn my house down, don't slice my house down," You emphasize firmly, nervously eyeing the intimidating Chaoseater. Even just leaning against the wall next to your fireplace, you felt the terrific energy from the dangerous sword. No wonder it was an apocalyptic weapon. "and most importantly treat everything as though it was fragile." You rub your eyes and decide that a 2 hour power nap would make you feel rested enough to make dinner.

"Human," War begins, for the first time in nearly 30 minutes. Your exhaustion was starting to press on you, but you look to him and wait for him to continue.

"If anyone knows about my summoning, there will be consequences." Again, that edge was there, and that was the point in which you needed to escape. You wordlessly turn and briskly walk to your room, unintentionally slamming the door, but it was a hope that the solid piece of wood was able to just shut out all of your problems for the next while.

You took off your house slippers, and you effective immediately slid under the covers and just went to sleep, not caring what became of the Horseman for the next 2 hours.

* * *

About 2-ish hours ticked by and you woke up to silence. It wasn't blissful like other times, it was nearly choking. Remembering the Horseman that roamed your home set your temper at a moderate level already, and your hunger was not helping either. You shove your feet into your house slippers and you grab your house coat as there was a bite to the air. The fireplace must've either died or was in the process of dying.

You open your door much nicer than when you came to take your nap, and you shuffle to the kitchen, feeling admittedly better than a while ago. While making your journey you decided that a stew with biscuits was the meal for dinner, since it was heartwarming and relatively quick to make. Due to the winter that was prevalent outside, the sun set very early. Although it was about 4 in the afternoon, it was rather dark outside.

You scan the living room, noting that War was not there. You gaze around, seeing no hulking figure in your house. You simply conclude that he was outside. You feed the fire more wood to last the next few hours and walk a little less tensely to the kitchen, washing your hands as you gather ingredients for your stew.

Staples such as carrots, celery, onions, canned tomatoes, tomato paste, seasonings and a pork shoulder (you were going to use for pulled pork later that week, but oh well) was all put on the counter space. You get to work preparing the ingredients, playing some music from a speaker system in the living room. It was loud, and you could clearly hear the songs you queued.

 _Feelings, so deep in my feelings_

 _No, this ain't really like me_

 _Can't control my anxiety_

 _Feeling, like I'm touching the ceiling_

 _When I'm with you I can't breathe_

 _Boy, you do something to me_

You were singing and momentarily forgetting the problems before you and immersing yourself in cooking, swaying and feeling the beat and the words of the song. The bass filled the whole house and you were just having a wonderful time being yourself. As you were putting things together after prior preparation steps, the stew was ready to go into the oven to simmer and bubble away. A small thought in your mind wondered about the Horseman, but you tried to silence it while you prepared to make biscuits.

You never thought cooking was tedious, and if you had the option of making things for yourself then you did. A labor of love was always worth it. Also, it was a great outlet from hours of drawing and putting stress on your wrist.

Eventually too your biscuits are rolled out, cut, and placed on a baking sheet (lined with parchment paper of course) and you place them in the fridge to keep the butter from melting while the stew finished its full cook time.

Cleaning up now, the Horseman was still out and about. Again that thought was focused in your mind, and your brain started jumping to scenarios. You continue cleaning up around the house to kill time and distract yourself from the reality, knowing that once you settle down for the night you're not getting back up unless your house was on fire.

 _Oh yeah, yeah, yeah  
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah_

 _Yeah, look  
I don't know how to talk to you  
I don't know how to ask you if you're okay  
My friends always feel the need to tell me things  
Seems like they're just happier than us these days  
Yeah, these days I don't know how to talk to you  
I don't know how to be there when you need me  
It feels like the only time you see me  
Is when you turn your head to the side and look at me differently_

 _Yeah, and last night I think I lost my patience  
Last night I got high as the expectations  
Last night, I came to a realization  
And I hope you can take it  
I hope you can take it  
I'm too good to you  
I'm way too good to you  
You take my love for granted  
I just don't understand it  
No, I'm too good to you  
I'm way too good to you  
You take…_

You were singing and furiously cleaning, minding the time and your increasing hunger. Drake was telling you everything that you felt. You treated the Horseman in a civil and polite manner to the best of your ability and he gets all snappy. You didn't freak the fuck out when he appeared, you were calm trying to help him get back to where he was, and above all else, you opened your home to him.

"Bastard, I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind when he gets his ass back in here," You growl, the fiery flow of Cardi B fueling your fire as you vacuumed the rug underneath the coffee table. When War stood up, you suspected that he brushed off all the crumbs that fell into that dumb hood onto the floor. That seemed to be interpreted as a deliberate act to piss you off, and you felt yourself practically steaming as you continued to clean.

You huff as you finished sweeping and dusting, your skin hot from your sudden energy. You wash your hands again, and turn off the music. You put the biscuits in the oven while taking out the stew, checking to make sure the cook was to your standard (which was perfection by the way). Your mouth was watering like you haven't eaten in a week. Stew was among the many things that you enjoyed cooking and eating.

It was just as you placed the lid on the pot that the main door creaked open. Startled, you jumped a bit as it was something that was unexpected. You made a noise to the alarm you felt, and your rather good mood almost instantly died as the Horseman smugly snickered at you, obviously amused although his face did not show it.

"That's not funny." You growl, furrowing your brow while you decide to set the table in the living room. You decided to not ask where the Horseman has been since really he's a grown ass man who doesn't need you worrying about his every action. You were very certain that someone as old and independent as himself was capable of not doing something really reckless (like start an apocalypse).

"Also, I know you hate this situation, but I'm trying my best, Horseman. Just a little bit of patience would be well appreciated." You say to him from the other room, before coming back to grab a pitcher of water with ice. War looked at you for a tense moment, and you saw him nod slowly. If it weren't for the almost agonizingly slow speed of that nod, you would've said that he was understanding the stress you were feeling.

"I understand." War responded, his voice not yielding any emotion as to what he really thought in regards to what you said. He closed the door behind him with a gentle nudge, almost like he forgot that he was the one who opened it in the first place. Huh, that doesn't seem like typical War-like behavior.

Your living room was one large space, with the couches against the windows with a coffee table in front of them, and the dining table was closer to the entrance of the kitchen. Open, but there was a sense of separation between the two areas. Furthermore, the kitchen directly lead outside to the main area of your house through a small hallway. You felt as though you forgot something in the kitchen, and as you came back you noticed the Horseman was still standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

War closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You saw a small smile crease on his face and you near thought it was a trick of the eyes. Did….did War just smile? You'd be lying if you said that you weren't proud of yourself, because although it was due to the food, it was still an effort that you put in that caused him to smile.

"What is that aroma from?" War inquired with subtle interest, his blue eyes glowing as you saw him glance around, and you revelled in the refreshing softness in his tone. Finally, a break from that harsh edge in his voice.

"I made stew and some biscuits. I set the table. You're welcome to have some if you're hungry." You say checking the biscuits, the golden brown indicating that they were done.

Not wasting a second, you place the hot biscuits carefully into a basket lined with towel, and carry it to the table. Two seats were set up, across from one another. You realize that normal chair were not large enough for the Horseman, so you offered to move to the couch while you watch a show or something while you both ate. He nodded, taking his large bowl of stew and handful of biscuits with him to the couch.

You decide on a history movie, since it's within your interests and also because he would probably be able to relate to it more than some modern movie. War remained silently in awe at the advancement of technology, but you just continued to soak up that good attitude from War like a sponge. It seems that you have found a way to stay in his high spirits, and honestly it's not a true burden to upkeep.

Your meal was rather enjoyable as you both watch the movie while spaced apart from one another (it was Braveheart™ that you chose), and to your surprise he was rather chatty about man and how trivial it all seemed. You rolled your eyes at nearly every one of his comments, but they weren't super judgmental nor aimed at you and for that you were grateful.

You could get used to maybe hanging out with the Horseman, and relishing in the good company he wouldn't admit he was.

* * *

Sorry for the weird almost out of context (probably really out of context) description of the house. I just thought it was necessary for perspective of the building. I know it's not the greatest lol.

Songs used: **Boo'd Up - Ella Mai**  
 **Too Good - Drake - ft. Rihanna**

As mentioned before, I don't take any credit for the songs or the game.

Thanks for reading 3 Happy Holidays

-Mrs. Dauntless


End file.
